


"John"

by Lord_Risley



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Did I Mention Angst?, Lots of Angst, M/M, Suicide Attempt, nearly a death, oh the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Risley/pseuds/Lord_Risley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johns life dies when Sherlock dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"John"

**Author's Note:**

> Very short, very sweet. Written in one go with one read through. Hopefully picked all mistakes out. Hope you enjoy. Made me snuffle. Let me know what you think.

John Stood with his face tilted toward the warm sun. The breeze ruffled his hair and caught under his jacket. It would have been a pleasant day with pleasant weather were it any other day, but it wasn't. He stepped forward.

 

Johns life had dissolved into a mere existence when Sherlock had left him. Everything had stopped to have purpose or reason. He had stopped caring and eventually people stopped caring for him. His life had slowly crumbled, leading him to this point here. He had struggled to deal with the emotional overload left behind in the wake of Sherlocks jump. One day he would feel nothing but misery, pain and loss. The next day he would be angry, so angry at Sherlock. There has never been anything they couldn't fix before. Sherlock hadn't even tried. He had left. Left his life. Left John.

When the police and the media had finally vindicated Sherlock it had made it all the worse for John. His friend, his best friend had died for no reason at all. There wasn't even a flimsy reason to hold on to anymore and that had been the day that John had shut himself off from his friends, his life, his hope.

He had been shuffling around the flat he still kept at Baker St. He couldn't give it up. It was all he had now. Sherlock's room was untouched. The door had been closed and never reopened. The microscope had stayed on the kitchen table until Johns anger had sent it smashing to the floor several months ago. And Sherlock's chair was never sat in by anyone, Soon after the death when people came to see him he'd nearly knocked them to the floor when they'd innocently tried to sit down. 

That day he had gone to the kitchen with no real purpose and his eyes had fallen on the wall calendar. He stared at it. It couldn't be right. He'd gone to the living room and turned the TV on just to check the date. It was right and he hadn't even known. He sat heavily onto the arm of his chair heavily his mind buzzing. It was one year to the day that Sherlock and Johns life had died. One year! How had that ever happened? Time had lost a great deal of meaning for him as he had no reason to keep track but....one year!

He wasn't quite sure how long he had sat there with his head in his hands and the TV quietly humming in the background. When he lifted his head he knew he had to get out of the flat. It suddenly felt oppressive and he wanted to get out as quickly as he could. When he reached the street he started to walk with no mind as to where he was going. "One year!" He needed to keep moving that was all that mattered. "One year!" It kept going round and round in his thoughts making him feel slightly sick. He walked and he walked and didn't stop until.....He looked up. He was here again. He was stood in virtually the same spot that he had stood in a year before to watch his friend fall to his death. He stared to gasp for breath, Tears rolling down his face but he can't stop looking up. He chest heaves and he starts to feel dizzy. He places his hands on his knees and looks at the ground. "Don't be sick. Breathe. Don't be sick. Breathe..." He repeats the mantra over and over until he feels himself gaining some control again. He stands, shakily, and stares at the rooftop one last time. 

 

Now he stands on the rooftop where Sherlock died, In perhaps the very spot very Sherlock stood. He feels the sun on his face and the breeze in his hair. He steps forward...

"John"


End file.
